


Freedom's Call

by fragilespark



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 21:44:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilespark/pseuds/fragilespark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My submission to the Dragon Age Reverse Big Bang.</p><p>"When he flees the Vigil with a raging Justice newly in his head, he has nothing. Yet by the time we reach that fateful moment in Kirkwall, he has Freedom's Call - a stave that only he can wield."</p><p>This is my take on Anders' journey to Kirkwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fierce. Not a word he had thought to attribute to himself, but there was something different. In _this_ journey, in _this_ solitude, if it could be called that. It could have been Justice inside him. It could have been the burn of hunger that reminded him of the sacrifices he'd make to be free. Avoiding discovery was no cowardice on his part, he needed more time to test the limits of his new, shared power.

His thinning body, home to two irreversible pacts.

The harsh chill ripped through his lungs with each intake of breath, feeding the unease he had felt too often lately, that he could not continue as he was. It was harder and harder to find a safe base from which to send and receive letters, and he was particularly keen to hear from Karl, who had been transferred to Kirkwall. His last letter had hinted at just what kind of a place it was.

Anders had known Justice's opinion on this realm, that he did not like the world outside the Fade. Now he felt it like a whisper of his own, making him wonder if it had been there all along. The ground was too hard, his body too easily tired, his emotions dulled. All except anger, and he was weary of that too. This state he found himself in was doing nothing to help Karl.

He was going to leave Ferelden.

 

Within a week of his decision he had sold his weapon and waited for night in a secluded dock near Highever, where he boarded a small ship. There were other mages, none that he knew, but if the tip-off was to be a trap then he would make it hell for anyone who hurt them. In truth he was surprised that people were still leaving Ferelden - or perhaps they had come back and found that there was no life left for them after all.

Despite the short distance, the conditions on the water were not pleasant, and the seasickness of passengers in the hold even less so.

"Here." Anders offered a sprig of elfroot he had kept about him to a young girl shivering in the corner. "Chew on a leaf. It should make you feel better. Spit it out afterwards, though."

He knew they would dock in Kirkwall, but he had no desire to be near the Circle. He did not intend to continue scavenging for scraps and hide away from every other person. He needed shelter, but he also missed company. If he could find other apostates and find out if they were doing anything about the Circle, thus finding a way to help Karl, it would be a place to start.

He looked around. Some were huddled together. Some were trying to sleep. In every look, in every restless movement, there was fear. These weren't people willing to start a revolution, but they were desperately in need of one.

 

It was just dawn when they were hustled out of the ship, the crew as rude as they were inviting when they took their money. Not a dock, but a rocky beach, where they were abandoned. It was clear that the Captain had no clearance to get them to port, and no interest in what happened to them. In the darkness it could even be that they were back on the Coastlands of Ferelden.

Anders stumbled forward with the others until the sea was no longer lapping at his ankles. Wet sand had pooled through the holes in his boots, and although some people sat to get their bearings, he pressed on. He had been still too long.

"Excuse me." The little girl said, tugging at his hand. "My mother is not well. Do you have any more medicine?"

"I don't, but there might be some around here..."

The girl looked around eagerly, and Anders felt a rush of alarm.

"No. You can't pick it yourself, you might pick something poisonous." He crouched in front of her. "You stay with your mother. I'll bring some for you."

As he searched among the scrub, his instinct told him this wasn't Ferelden. The scent was different, and as morning crept onto them it brought a slight warmth to the air. The Free Marches. Anders took in the lungfuls of hope and returned to the shore.

Many had moved on. Most of the mages had, and he was a little disappointed. He offered the herb to the woman but she barely responded. There was something still not quite right. He touched her forehead.

"This is no seasickness."

"Wouldn't bother," a man said, walking away, "probably has the Blight."

"She hasn't." Anders said, with all the authority of a Grey Warden. While there were still cases of people dying from the taint, Anders had seen them diminish, and he sensed nothing of the sort from anyone on the boat. The last few stragglers went on their way, probably from the scaremongering that they would catch a disease.

"It's a fever, I'm sure." He said, reassuring the girl, "nothing more. Close your eyes."

Anders looked around. They were alone. He placed his hand on the woman's forehead again, drawing on his power to heal. As trusting as the girl was, he couldn't risk her seeing this. She might even turn out to be a mage herself, but as much as Anders wanted to show that magic could be used for good, it would take one innocent reveal to set him on the run again. Better for her to think it was some mysterious Warden power.

"Can I open my eyes yet?"

Anders smiled. "Yes. Good girl."

The woman started returning to her senses. "You... were on the boat."

"Yes. I can help you get to Kirkwall, but I'm not sure of the way myself." He helped her stand.

He thought he saw a flicker of lightning, but no thunder came, only a far-off cry.

"If we get to higher ground," she said, "we should see the city. It can't be hard to find."

 

Away from the trees, with a clearer skyline, she was right. A plume of thick smoke was catching the sunrise, and eventually they saw below it the shape of the cliff that the city was set in.

It was easy to envy those with a head start. There was a fair way to go yet.

As the wandering coastline became a hillside path, Anders caught the amber glint of something reflecting the light. He stepped over the rocks to get to it, his hand almost resting on a splatter of blood, still half wet. It looked like the pommel of a weapon lodged between rock and shrub where it fell. He couldn't see any bodies. Anders pulled at the hilt, but instead of the sword or axe he was expecting, he revealed a staff with a snarling wolf's head, its ferocity igniting his own.

So it had been a mage. Brought here by freedom's call.

The templars must have overpowered them and taken them away. Unless they surrendered, too tired to fight.

Justice pulsed in his veins, reminding him he had failed to protect them. Vengeance blinded him, tearing at him with inviting images of templar death.

"What is it?"

The voice, the sound of water, of birds, all filtered back into his consciousness and he looked down at the staff in his hands. He turned and carefully made his way back over to them.

"Oh. You can sell it to my sister, Lirene. She owns a shop. That's where we're headed."


	2. Chapter 2

They had parted ways on entering the city, Anders wanting to lose himself in the crowd. Nothing in Karl's letters prepared him for the pervading acrid smell of the city. Ferelden had cold and mud and animals but here - here was metal, rust and sweat. Even when he wandered into the undercity it didn't dissipate; it sank, stagnating and melding with the smell of the sick and the poor. It seemed nobody cared about those in the slums. At least it was the perfect place to become invisible.

"There ain't no handouts here."

"I'm not-"

"You think we don't know when they've dumped another lot of you here? Fuck off."

He noticed that there was a familiarity about the odd person here and there, but it could just be that there were a lot of Fereldans, cramped in with the locals.

He wasn't sure there was a place he could leave his staff without it going missing as he slept. He went to the farthest point in Darktown, looking up at the rows of slaves painted on the walls.

"You don't want to go there." Said the croaky voice of an old woman.

"Why? What is that place?"

"That's death's door. People don't come out again, unless it's to be thrown into the water once they're dead."

Anders didn't know if it was really the centre of a Carta ring and it was just a story to dissuade people from entering, but either way, it was effective. He was hungry, and he wasn't likely to find any sustenance in the dead end. Perhaps he should visit Lirene after all.

 

There were as many condescending faces on his way to the shop as there were tired ones inside it.

A dark-haired woman was sorting through a handful of items with a customer and shaking her head. "I don't think I can give you much for this."

"Please, anything will do. I need to get a potion from Miss Elegant."

Lirene sighed, and handed over some copper bits, not enough for a round of drinks, let alone a herbalist's services. "I'm sorry."

The customer nodded and hurried away, clutching the money.

"Yes?"

"Hello." Anders was unsure where to start. He was reluctant to part with his new staff, even more so now that the patrons of this shop had no use for it. Better for her to spend her money on helping the people desperately in need. "I'm- I've just arrived. And I'm looking for somewhere to... eat."

"We don't serve food here, but the Hanged Man is round the corner, that's your best bet, unless you want to buy from the market and make your own. But you don't have anywhere to stay yet, do you?"

Anders shook his head.

"I'll put your name on the list - it's...?"

"Anders."

"I'm not saying we can't help you, Anders, but... there are so many refugees who can't even work."

"I know. I'm not one to take advantage of any help offered. Is... your sister alright? Did she make it to you? We were traveling together."

"Oh! I was hoping I would get to see you. As you can see, people come to us for help. A herbalist would come in handy - one who understands our needs run deeper than our pockets."

Anders put his hand up. "Unfortunately, I'm not a herbalist - I'm not very skilled at all. I just know a few uses for elfroot, that's about it."

"Still, I'm grateful for what you did. I was worried for them both. It's good to see someone who cares and at least tries to help. Come back tomorrow. I'm sure they'd like to see a friendly face."

"So would I. Lirene, is it?" He offered his hand.

She shook it. "My pleasure."

 

The first night, he curled up near the dead end in Darktown, fancying he could see the old woman watching him, even in her sleep. His night was restless. He woke to an elf being dragged past him by a group of masked men, and ignored it. He felt his hipbone pressing against the hard floor, and ignored it. He heard the sound of a crow perched on one of the slave statues, and ignored it - but Justice wouldn't let him ignore the fate of the mages he had met here. Even as his focus was on them, he couldn't help but be affected by the sorry state of the other refugees, mage or not.

Bleary morning came, and he still had his staff, his Mother's cushion and his sandy boots, which he emptied over the edge over the water. He tried not to think of the corpses it might land on, far below. Instead he had a clearer purpose, thanks to Lirene's family - so what if he could only make a potion or two? He also had his magic, and could heal mages where his skill surpassed theirs, and anyone too sick to notice, or care. If things went well, in time he could ask Lirene to send a message to the Gallows. After all, he was sure there had to be someone there who would buy Fereldan Imports.

He looked across to the solemn doors at the end of Darktown. He could deal with injury. He could deal with disease. Perhaps he could find a hiding place where not even the lowest of the low dared to go.

First, though, he had to explore the rest of the city.

 

"Twelve."

"Six!"

"Four."

"Seven!"

Even though he hadn't heard the rules, Anders knew exactly who was winning, the double dice rolls bounding across the nearby table, their hard clattering only a whisper amongst the noise of the Hanged Man. It was a lively night, and he didn't fancy getting drawn into the betting.

He knew the game well. He doubted the patrons even knew it had originated in Circle towers from the hands of restless mages. Before his time, but he had heard of the small sketched cards, different designs every time, getting confiscated until one of the mages convinced some of the friendlier templars to join the game. From there, it spread as the Templars played their own version among themselves with the seized cards. By the time Anders played it, it had been banned again, at least in Ferelden.

It was too soon to write to Karl. He longed to, to tell him where he was, his thoughts on the city, his questions about the Circle, but couldn't risk it yet. In any case, nothing could match his company.

Finishing the modest half he had been nursing all evening, he stood from his corner and made his way to the door.

"Ugh, out of the way."

"Maker. Can't even enjoy a drink any more."

With Justice's thoughts blended with his, he felt both distaste and detachment at his own body, aware of needing a bath but seeing no other option than to take a dip in the sea or pay for it at the Rose. The company was optional, but he didn't feel any excitement at the prospect.

Bathing could wait. He had to find out what was behind those doors and if it was as bad as he thought, it was better to wash it off afterwards.


	3. Chapter 3

"Anders, hello."

"Hi. Just passing by."

"Anders!" said a young voice. It was Lirene's niece. He was touched that she had learnt his name, and was using it as if he were a friend.

"Everything alright here?"

"Actually, I'm glad you're here." Lirene tilted her head towards the next room, indicating that he should follow.

Among the people there was a young woman sitting on a crate, crying quietly. She was pregnant.

"Thrown out by her employer. She's come to me for help, but I can't do anything for her, so I'm sending her to the Chantry. Still, I think I would rest a little easier if you could make sure everything is okay?"

Anders shook his head. "I'm no physician." Even though he could not tolerate the Chantry, if they could provide her with food and shelter, she would be in better hands - at least until the child was born. "I'm sorry."

The girl didn't look up, just stared at his patched up boots until he walked away.

 

There was a space where the old woman had been sitting. Anders wondered briefly if she, too, was behind those doors.

He knocked.

Experience had taught him that one could hide behind a locked door for a long, long time if their resolve outlasted that of the person trying to get in.

He knocked again.

From up close, he could hear the faint cough and moan that made the ruse too elaborate for a Carta hideout, in his opinion, although he was not so seasoned that the world could fail to surprise him. The natural light faded outside and the lanterns above the door looked dusty and unused.

Unnerved but undaunted, Anders tried again, banging harder. He wasn't looking to intimidate anyone, but he had come this far and had few other options.

Anders had spent half his life trying to escape, now he was trying to get in.

"I'm here to help." he announced, the normal volume of his voice echoing in the quiet.

At length the door was opened a bare few inches. "Leave. There is no help you can give."

Anders tried to look at the hooded man, but it seemed the inside of the room was darker than the outside. "There is no reason for me not to try."

He shook his head, but opened the door. "You may die like one of them."

Anders walked in. Rows of sick and injured littered the floor, which was dirty with blood and other stains. "Are you in charge here?"

"No. The Coterie... they come and help themselves to anything and anyone they want to take. Usually children - start them young. I just look after everyone that's left."

"Coterie?"

"Thieves. Murderers."

So it was a criminal hideout. Only they weren't the ones hiding there. "Why haven't they taken you?"

"Because I'm the one that tells them who's going to live and who won't make it - don't look at me like that. I can't stop them on my own. And they keep the slavers away."

"What do you do to _help_ these people?"

"They're... broken. No potions can help them."

Anders felt his own impatience. "What about magic?"

"What?"

Anders was done with shadows. He let a blaze of light emerge from his hand, illuminating the dank conditions and the man's tired face. "Mages should be allowed to use their powers to save people's lives. How have you stayed free of disease here?" The place was rank with it.

"There's no guarantee I have."

"You need fresh air and fresh food. Go to Lowtown. There's a woman called Lirene running a Fereldan Import shop. Tell her I sent you."

The dark haired man went to the door and turned. "My name is Joel."

"Go."

 

Anders looked around at the people lying on the hard stone. He suspected that some were already dead. He felt Justice question if any of these people were mages. Joel hadn't mentioned templars.

"Any of you have magic?"

Nobody answered.

Inside the room he saw no area for cleaning any grime or wounds, and the windows were boarded up. Even in solitary his worst conditions had been better than this.

The people remained unresponsive. He knew what it was like to be subdued, but he could not believe that their spirits had deteriorated as much as their health. He had to do something about those windows. Karl was a mage who could force objects to bend and move. Perhaps if he could get him out of the Circle it could be something they could work on together. Justice - it had to be Justice's influence - told him to abandon this altogether and focus on getting Karl and other mages out. After all, this Coterie would likely have no scruples in selling him out to the templars.

One of the women whimpered.

He didn't know what he could do in the long run, but he would heal until spent and find a corner to spend the night. One day at a time.

Anders approached the nearest group, where the voice had come from. "Does anyone need healing?"

"I'm in so much pain," a quiet voice said, "please, make it go away."

That first request triggered a flood of murmurs from those that could still manage it. Some of them told him to leave, that it was too late. Others started to plead.

He knelt next to the woman. "What's wrong?"

She showed him her leg. It was impossible to tell how she had been injured as her wound had festered and her leg looked in very bad condition: swollen and taking on an unhealthy green tinge. It looked bleak.

"I... can help with the pain. And I can try to stop the infection from spreading, but..."

"Cut it off!" Came a nearby grumble. The woman gasped.

Anders felt ill. "No. I can't do that." He let the magic course through him, letting the life force fill her. Healing her leg was beyond his power. Joel didn't look strong enough to wield a blade either, one that could do the job. Anders had no idea how to go about such things, or even if it was the right thing to do, but he would not give up.

"Come here then, sort my lungs out, is that what you're here for?" The man's voice was rough, and it was hard to tell why.

"What's happened to them?"

"Aren't you here to find out?"


	4. Chapter 4

Joel came back. Before Anders could even acknowledge his return, a well-armed woman entered the pit.

"Who's this? Got a new one, have you?"

"No, he's helping."

"Is he now? He's meddlin' in Coterie business; he'll have to pay up if he wants a share of the work."

Anders looked at her. "Pay you? I'm doing you a favour."

She walked towards him, hand at the hilt of her dagger. "An' how you figure that?"

"I've heard that you're the ones that do the dirty work. Dragging out corpses, covering up disappearances, keeping the slaves from hunting your territory. The more people I help, the less trouble you have." He was running purely on bravado. "In fact, there's something you can help me with."

"You can't afford me."

Anders shot out a spark of electricity that set the lantern above her head ablaze. "You can't refuse me."

"You dare-"

"This is your patch, isn't it? But it's barely worth your time. You hate it. You want bigger fish to fry, but you're always waiting for permission... except they don't expect you to have a mage on your side, do they?"

"I'm listening."

"Let me help these people. And when something better comes along for you, I'll help you get it."

"You don't have the power to make a deal like that." There was doubt in her voice.

"Is that what you've learnt? You can only make deals with people they approve?"

"You know nothing of the Coterie."

"And I want to keep it that way. Now find me someone with an axe."

"You're lucky I don't get 'em to chop off your head."

"I certainly am. Now hurry."

Joel stared at him after she had gone. "I can't believe you had the balls to do that. No-one I know's faced up to the Coterie before. Not a..." he gestured.

"Fereldan?"

Anders only realised in hindsight the authority with which he had spoken and knew it to be an echo of Justice, like so many other things.

 

She didn't survive. Whether it was the stress and blood loss from the amputation, or her malnourished body unable to fight against the infection, Anders had not been able to save her.

He lost many other people too, that first week. The old woman's warning was proving to be accurate so far. He hadn't seen her since. There were hardly any of the original patients left but every day there was at least one other at the door.

These were the people he could treat. Fresh wounds, early symptoms - people who expected to have no chance found themselves walking out of the door with their own strength. Members of the Coterie that had tried to interfere had been met with some serious magical counterattack. 

Anders lit the lanterns.

Anyone trying to take advantage of the vulnerable state of its inhabitants was now warned away by the claim on the territory, but it ended up serving as a beacon.

"I saw the lights..."

"I heard you healed..."

"I have nowhere else..."

They weren't just Fereldans, or mages. Anders took them in, although he could not help all of them. Word soon got around in Darktown and the Coterie were briefly pacified when Anders healed them following a particularly tough battle with the slavers.

It was fortunate timing, as when a templar unexpectedly patrolled the area, they did not betray Anders.

He would have to see Lirene. If he was to stay and work in peace, he would have to warn her who not to talk to.

 

"Anders. I haven't seen you in a while. You look tired."

"I've been helping out in Darktown. I think I might have found somewhere that needs me."

"You'll get no thanks for helping those in the Undercity. Not because they're a bad lot - not all of them - but that's their way. They have nothing to give, not even kindness."

"I just wanted to let you know that if people need help, I might be able to do something for them. But not everyone will be friendly to my... method of healing."

Her expression remained calm. "I understand."

"Do you? Understand what I mean, really?"

"You never got rid of the staff my sister said you found. Could have made you a bit of coin. Not much, not with what merchants will pay Fereldans these days, but for a refugee..."

"Thank you for not saying anything." Anders sighed. "I will need supplies, eventually. I have nothing."

"I'll ask. See if there's anything we can do. But there are no resources to help anyone."

"I have something else. I need a letter to reach someone in the Circle."

Lirene folded her arms. "I don't have any contacts in the Circle, but I'll find out what I can."

It was probably best not to ask Lirene any more questions at this point.

 

_K,_

_I've arrived in the city. I hope you're well. I've started to know my way around, so if there's anyone I need to see then please let me know. For my part, I've met plenty of Fereldans, and there is a woman who specialises in Fereldan goods. You should look her up. I've seen where you are from the outside. What I hear about its history makes me like it even less. Tell me what else you know._

_I miss you._

_A_

He hoped the message wasn't too vague but he would have to make his first letters especially guarded until they had a safe communication route.

 

On an oddly quiet day, it was Joel who took off the panels over the windows. It was a precarious job, but the room was better for it, letting in both light and air. They lit a fire to counteract any cold breezes and to heat tea and broth and the occasional potion. Joel had a friend who he asked to help and between the three of them they cleaned the place as best they could. There was a desk that Anders decided to reappropriate as a treatment table, although he had nothing to cushion it with except his Mother's gift to him, and he could not bear to use that. They would have to salvage what they could.

It was busy after that. Anders was surprised the first time someone rewarded him for his healing efforts. He assured them he would use the money for the improvement of the clinic and the care of the patients. He wanted supplies, but he also wanted books. If people were going to put their lives in his hands, he needed more than knowledge of magic, he needed the knowledge of a physician.

Joel remarked that the late night reading sessions were only exhausting him further, but Anders felt that he had no choice. He couldn't bear to have come so far only to lose someone to an ignorant mistake.

 

Late into one such study session he answered the door to find the young woman he had met at Lirene's clutching her pregnant stomach.

Through her gasps and cries he learnt that she was in labour but didn't want to have it at the Chantry, fearful that they would take it away. She had already exerted herself walking to Darktown and Anders worried for her. He had no idea what to do, and had not even intended to provide this kind of assistance. However, he was not going to refuse her a second time.

The scream coming from the clinic that night wasn't one of despair, but one of change.

 

_A_

_My dearest friend, it's wonderful to know that you are close by. I'm sorry it took so long to write. I received your letter safely, and I hope mine reaches you in the same state I sent it-_

Anders put down the letter. His vision was blurring a little. Despite the good work he was doing, and how important his clinic had become to him, it was always the plight of mages that tore at his emotions the most. He missed Karl, but he also hurt for the injustice of having to write covert letters like criminals, when they should be free to live and work and love. He sighed and picked it up again, desperate to read the rest.

_Not only are we not safe but anyone who is found to associate with people like us is punished without mercy. It is intolerable, and I fear worse. I was shocked to find a friend of mine was made Tranquil yesterday. I find it strange that he hadn't already been through his Harrowing but I couldn't get to the records to check. They might be doing the unthinkable._

_Stay safe. Write as soon as you can._

_K_

 

Anders clutched his staff. He could feel it again, the anger, the lust for action. He would gladly rip through every templar in Kirkwall. He needed to rally others.

_In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice._

The words came to him easily, but they would not do.

He was going to have to write his own.


End file.
